I think I must be genetically wired for PTSD or something. Since surgery – or more particularly since coming home from the hospital – I’ve been kept awake at night by flashbacks of stuff that happened in the hospital. It’s not fun, and makes me think my grip on reality is more tenuous than I thought.
I’m keen to talk to my therapist – and she sensed this when I spoke to her briefly yesterday – but I can’t right now. In part because I have no privacy at my parents’ house (and there’s certainly no room for getting upset here), and in part because I’m too afraid to let this loose and lose my grip even further.
I want to talk about what’s happening in my head and why. Why is this stuff – MORE stuff – following me around like this?
But I can’t talk about this now. So I’m hanging on. I’m not taking the proper pain killers because I’m too afraid they’ll tip me over the edge. I couldn’t deal with that. Not while at my parents’ place and not when I have no escape.
I know that going home would be the logical thing to do. Trouble is I can’t drive at the moment, so am relying on my mother to take me home. Tomorrow? No, because “the traffic will be too heavy” (ugh!) Hopefully the next day.